


Departures

by TextualDeviance



Series: The Raven and the Dove [41]
Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-03
Updated: 2015-07-03
Packaged: 2018-04-07 09:58:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4259070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TextualDeviance/pseuds/TextualDeviance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the morning they're parted: Ragnar to war, Athelstan to the settlement. Neither are happy about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Departures

**Author's Note:**

> Set during the last half of 3x01

Ragnar's body still ached sweetly from the loving attention that had it had just been paid. He wasn't quite sure why he wanted Athelstan to take him this morning, instead of the usual reverse, but he was glad he had asked. Watching his lover standing at the wash basin, tidying up after their tryst, he tried to commit to memory every sensation; every touch, smell, and taste of his body. The echo of Athelstan's passionate invasion was a strong and vivid way to ensure that those memories would stick with him in the weeks to come, when they were all he would have of his beloved. 

"Are we ready for this?" Athelstan said quietly as he began to dress. 

"I cannot speak for you, but I am not. I would rather stay in this bed forever, uncomfortable as it is, than pick up my shield ever again, if it meant I could be with you." Nevertheless, he sat up, and retrieved his clothes from the end of the bed where they had been tossed.

"Would that we had such choices," Athelstan said. He strolled over and blessed Ragnar with a kiss. "It seems the gods have other plans for us right now, however." 

Ragnar reached out to fondle the golden cross that dangled from his lover's neck. "Different gods, different plans. Odin sends me to my sword; Jesus sends you to the plow."

"So it seems."

Ragnar stared at the shiny metal. "Perhaps I should dedicate myself to your God instead, if that's the path He would choose for me." 

Athelstan shrugged. "God has not always chosen a path of peace." 

Ragnar wrinkled his nose, and then grinned teasingly. "Then we should travel the world in search of a god who does."

"I would like that." Athelstan returned the smile. "Alas that we have other duties before we could, though."

The sound of the villa's staff scurrying about for the busy day ahead echoed in the corridor beyond the room, and Ragnar sighed. "I suppose this is our last real farewell, then. For now. I will come back to you, I promise."

"I will hold you to that," Athelstan said, and gave him another sound kiss.

 

The courtyard was abuzz with preparations for departure: His company to the boats for the journey north, the settlers west for the land that had been promised. All around him were fond goodbyes and wishes for gods' graces and good fortune. He, however, merely hung back, chewing his lip thoughtfully, and watching the rest of the crowd execute the dance.

Most of his attention was, of course, on one person. Not that he was the only one paying it. Aethelwulf's young wife—he couldn't remember her name, but knew her as Aelle's daughter—seemed just as fascinated with his priest. Athelstan, to Ragnar's amusement, seemed bewildered by the attention.

Lagertha, dressed less a warrior than the farmer she was for so many years, strode up to him. "It is time to bid you farewell, it seems."

He nodded at her. "Indeed. I saw that you spoke with Bjorn."

"I did." She glanced over at their son, who was again chatting with the young woman who had claimed his heart. "I admit I worry about him—especially as regards her. Men are known to do such foolish things for the love of a woman."

"As you should well know," Ragnar said with a smirk.

"To whom did you think I was referring?" she shot back, nudging his arm. They both laughed lightly, then she grew serious again. "Look after him, Ragnar. Look after our son."

"You know I will," he assured her. His eyes narrowed. In the distance, boots stirring up dust as he strode in from the villa, Ecbert was pushing his way through the crowd. He was dressed for travel, Ragnar noticed, which unsettled him. He turned back to his former wife. "I have a similar request of you," he said, trying to keep an embarrassing note of desperation from his voice.

"Oh?"

"Keep an eye out for Athelstan, if you can."

"Of course. But why?" She looked over. The man in question was stuffing a pack into the back of the wagon in which they'd be traveling.

"I don't trust him," Ragnar said. "Ecbert, I mean." He nodded toward the king. "You are a wise person. You don't trust easily. You can recognize deceit in others. Athelstan, I am afraid, cannot. This king holds a power over him—something which I cannot understand nor break. I fear it will be his undoing."

"I can see that," she said. "I will watch him, then. You can rest assured that I will manage Ecbert in whatever way he needs to be managed." She touched Ragnar's arm. "Remember that I love Athelstan, too, if not exactly the way you do. I will keep him from harm."

Ragnar smiled. "And yourself, too."

She laughed, and leaned up to kiss his cheek. "That, dear Ragnar, is a given." Turning, she headed to the wagon, and climbed in.

From horseback, Ragnar watched as the wagon rolled down the western road. As it crested a hill, he saw Athelstan turn back to look at him. He smiled, a warm, loving expression, and then returned his attention to the road. The last sight Ragnar had was the cream-and-green design of Athelstan's shield, secured to the side of the wagon. He hoped there would be no cause to use it.


End file.
